[A Davis doctor’s office. This last Tuesday.]
My doctor came back into the room.
“Are you sure you want the shot?”
“Yes.”
“The nurse is afraid to give it to you–she’s thinking about what happened last time she injected you with this drug.”
“That wasn’t her fault–I’m just that weirdo that all the weird stuff happens to. Send her in.”
“Okay, but she really doesn’t want to.”
Several years ago, my back went out. My doctor ordered a shot of Toradol, a drug I’d had before. It usually breaks the pain cycle enough for the back to even out after a few days.
On that day, I made a noise when the needle went in. The nurse and I were both surprised it hurt that much, especially since it has to go into the thick ass muscle. But I got my bandaid on and went home.
I went to sleep early that night. When I woke up, I thought I had rolled over on a book.
A hardcover book.
Something was under me.
Except there was no book–just a giant blood bruise–six by four inches–across my ass cheek.
I was scheduled to see my GERD doctor the next day, so I ended our appointment by making things uncomfortable–
“I have a weird blister from a shot on my butt–can you look at it and tell me if I need to see someone else about it, officially?”
He declared it big but fine and fled the room. His nurse, who had had to come in, since I’d dropped my pants, said it was the largest blood bruise she had ever seen.
Two days later, I was getting my allergy shots. I hadn’t been able to sleep, due to the discomfort, so I asked my allergy nurse if there was something I could do to ease the pain of my bruise/hematoma.
“What bruise?”
I showed her.
“Oh, hell!”
The original nurse who had given the shot was summoned, as was my doctor. There was consternation all around.
My doctor cleaned the wound and bandaged it. He said I would have to come back the next week to get the bandaged changed.
“I can’t–I’m gonna be at a conference in Oxford.”
And then they started telling me that I couldn’t go, in case I got necrosis. I over-rode them, explaining that I would keep a good look at for necrosis and that I was going to a country with better healthcare than ours.
The 9 hour plane ride was not fun.
When I had to change the bandage, halfway through the conference, what I saw was truly gross–it wasn’t black or red or green, but there were multiple layers of skin that were simply gone.
Having promised to check in, I sent a message to my doctor’s office: “No necrosis, but it looks like something took a big bite out of my ass.”
In the years since, the nurse has checked my ass whenever she’s worked with me–there’s a scar. My doctor told me he had to counsel her quite a few times after the bruise–she kept trying to figure out what she had done wrong.
But she hadn’t. As he explained, when you give thousands of shots, one of them will eventually create a hematoma.
Tuesday, she walked into the room. “When I saw your name, and the drug, I didn’t want to come in.”
“I know.”
She made sure to give me the shot on the other side, away from the scar.
It’s two days later, and there’s no bite.
